


Boy

by NotTriDom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Past Kidnapping, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 06:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTriDom/pseuds/NotTriDom
Summary: John knows that he can't be a good sheriff and not make enemies, even in a small county like Beacon Hills. But he always thought he would only be putting himself in danger, never his family, never Stiles. He didn't realize how wrong he was until Stiles goes missing. For six months, he has no leads on finding his son, until one morning his personal phone rings.





	Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags.

As John hung up the phone, his vision tunneled as he stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and went to the door. The bullpen was still dark, even as the sun was starting to rise. He walked down the hallway to the rear exit. He could hear his footsteps amplified on the carpet, his own breathing, and his own heartbeat. It was before six am. The shifts hadn’t changed. Everyone was half asleep and ready to leave to get sleep after a long night. He had been considering doing it himself when his phone rang.

He could see his breath in the parking lot in the glow of the street lights. His cruiser’s door handle was damp with dew as he pulled it open and sat in the driver seat. The cold vinyl seats creaked under his weight as he turned the key in the ignition.

One of his day shift officers was turning into the lot as John passed him and turned on his lights. In the early morning hours, his sirens were loud, echoing off the still and silent houses. On a Saturday, it would still be hours before most people even opened their eyes.

He passed through quiet intersections down long stretches of two-lane road before pulling into the gas station on the far side of town. There was only one car in the lot, parked far to the side. An old man behind the register looked out of the window, watching John’s car was he pulled in.

The woman that called said there was something near the dumpster. She said she could see it from her house, but there were no houses with clear sight lines. He checked the name of the gas station again, even though he knew it was the right one. He hadn’t questioned it for a moment when the old woman told him.

He turned off the sirens and drove slowly around the parking lot until he could see the bulk of the dumpster in the dark. The lid was open and leaning against a chain link fence behind it. John got out of his car, the blue and red of his lights strobing against the filthy green paint. His gut was sinking. All he could think is that Stiles was going to be inside of it.

Then something moved, a shadow on the concrete behind the dumpster. It was low, at a dog’s level. It crawled out on all fours. It was so incredibly thin that his mind jerked and ground like a gear without oil, trying to twist and make sense, but it wouldn’t happen. Watching it stand up was like watching a pile of sticks being animated. A dark striped hoodie unzipped halfway down the man’s sternum. John could see the bones.

“Stiles,” he said, running toward him.

Stiles took a few steps toward him, but that was all he managed before John reached him and grabbed him.

“Dad.”

John clutched him closer. He stank of the garbage and sweat. The bones of his arms shook against John’s chest as he hugged him back. His breath was cool against his neck as he gasped small broken breaths.

John squeezed the mic on his shoulder, turning until his cheek was against Stiles’s filthy hair and he could speak.

“This is Sheriff Stilinski. I’m at the gas station on 8th and Main. I have Stiles. I need EMS immediately.”

He could hear Stiles’s voice cracking through the feedback as the mic picked it up, saying “Dad,” over and over. There was a moment of silence before the speaker blew up as units were mobilized. John couldn’t listen to them, Stiles was trembling in his arms, sinking to the ground. John took off his jacket and wrapped him in it, holding him as much on his lap as he could manage with his twenty-six year old body.

John touched his face as he listened to the faint ring of sirens beginning on the other side of town. He dragged his thumb across his cheek bone, so clear he could see the curvature of it beneath his skin.

“I’m so sorry it took so long, buddy,” John said. He could feel tears cooling on his face and didn’t know when he had started to cry. He leaned down and kissed Stiles cold forehead, holding him to his chest. Stiles’s thin fingers twisted in his shirt.

“Dad.”

“I’ve got you.”

“I’m dead,” Stiles said, his voice dry.  

“No. I’ve gotcha,” he said softly. “Dad’s gotcha. You’re going to be okay.”

“I knew you were looking for me,” Stiles said quietly like it hurt to talk. “I never believed you’d stop.”

John sniffed hard to keep his nose from running.

“Not in a million years.”

“Dad,” he said again, twisting John’s shirt tighter. John leaned over him, keeping him as close as possible. He was so cold. Nothing felt natural, everywhere he touched, he felt Stiles’s bones just beneath the surface, his tendons. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m right here,” he said, petting Stiles’s hair with one hand. “I’m not letting you go.”

“Don’t,” Stiles said, his voice cracking as he shoved himself closer. “Dad.”

“I’m not. I won’t. I’m right here.”

“I’m dead,” Stiles whispered again.

“No, baby.”

“It feels like it,” Stiles croaked. “It hurts so much.”

“What hurts?”

“Everything.”

John kissed his hair, a fresh gush of hot tears leaving from beneath his eyelashes. The screaming of the sirens had gotten closer. It was nearly deafening as the ambulance parked. Then paramedics were touching him and pulling his shoulders.

“Sheriff, we need to get him.”

“No, no, no,” Stiles said, clutching at John as they tried to pull him away. His hoarse voice broke over and over. “Dad.”

“I’m right here, buddy,” John said, allowing the paramedics to lie Stiles on a stretcher, untwining Stiles’s hands from his clothes and holding one of them. Stiles stared at him, the whites of his eyes stark.

“Dad,” he said again with nearly no sound.

John kissed his face as the paramedics took his vitals. For the first time, his heartbeat pulsed hard. His boy was right there. Fresh hot tears joined the cooling ones. He couldn’t keep his composure. He should be able to, but he couldn’t. He was starting to give up that he would see him again. He was sure that Gerard was going to kill his boy, maybe send him to him in pieces, maybe sell him into the sex trade, or keep him alive for years just to send John more videos of him screaming just out of the shot.  

“I love you, Stiles.”

“Love you,” Stiles said, barely loud enough for John to hear. He sounded so thirsty. His dark eyes were glazed as the sunrise started to color his face in tones of gray and blue. He could see the tendons of his throat as he swallowed. When the paramedic took away the statoscope from his chest, John zipped the hoodie up all the way, drawing the hood closer around his throat.

John kissed his face again, holding his bony hand in his own, and holding it against his chest.

“Where do you want us to take him?” one of the EMS workers asked. John would know his name any other day. He worked him so often, but he couldn’t remember it.

“St. John’s,” he said.

Then someone was pulling on his shoulder, he looked back at Derek Hale’s face. His eyes were locked on Stiles’s face, but Stiles wasn’t looking away even with his lids mostly closed.

“We can go point for them,” Derek said. “I’ll drive you.”

“Dad, don’t,” Stiles said, his body straining, every muscle John could see standing out beneath his pale skin. From the corner of his eye, he could see a paramedic giving Stiles something through an IV.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Ativan for the ride there,” the paramedic said.

John nodded before leaning over. That was going to kick in quickly. When they used to give it to Claudia it had only taken a minute or two until her anxiety was zapped and she just laid in the hospital bed listless.

“I’m going to be there when you get there, buddy. I’m not going to let that ambulance out of my sight, I swear,” he said.

“Dad, don’t,” he said even quieter.

John kissed him hard between his eyes, holding his thin face in his hands. When he pulled away one of the paramedics put oxygen tubes up Stiles’s nose. His eyes were closed. His hand limp as John put it on his chest.

“Put a blanket on him, please,” John said.

“We’ll take good care of him, John,” the paramedic said.

His name was Stephen John remembered. He could feel Derek’s hand on his shoulder as they walked back to his cruiser, he sat in the passenger side and let Derek get behind the wheel.

“How did you find him?” Derek asked.

“Someone called me.”

“Someone called you?” Derek asked, looking at him as the paramedics closed the ambulance doors. “What did they say?”

“Just that they could see something strange from their house by the dumpster.”

Derek looked around them. “There aren’t any houses-.”

“Derek, I can’t,” he said, looking at the man he was sure was going to be his son in law before Stiles went missing. There were dark places beneath his eyes. John couldn’t remember if he’d worked last night. “Just get Parrish to help keep the roads clear,” he said.

Derek nodded before speaking into his radio. As soon as the ambulance turned on their sirens again and moved forward, Derek put the cruiser into gear and took place in front of them. John watched the ambulance in the rearview mirror and never let it leave his sight.


End file.
